


The Shit

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Sacrifice, Creature Stiles, Gaslighting, M/M, Or Is he?, Stiles opinion of raccoons is the result, Stiles' age isn't mentioned but he can totally be 18 if you want, butchered Welsh myths, disembowelment of animals, for like 2 seconds and not really taken seriously, implied background Scott/Allison/Isaac, it's mostly fluff, of the author projecting her whole entire self onto his character, that trope where they're already basically in a relationship but don't realize it, wow those first two tags make this seem a lot darker than it actually is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: Stiles is the shit, alright.He’s the shit.It’s just unfortunate that he’s the shit at lying and deflecting, so no one knows just how much The Shit he is.Oh, you could say his dad knows he’s the shit, but he doesn’t see it as quite the accomplishment that Stiles does. His dad seems to think that lying and deflection are skills most likely to be used in flexibly legal activities.To which Stiles replies: they’re also good skills for careers in politics and police work, Sheriff Stilinski.The point is that Stiles is the shit.Which is why it’s so embarrassing that he gets caught over something so stupid.





	The Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who had two thumbs and has never watched Teen Wolf?? THIS LADY. Guess who fuckin banged out a 7k fic for it yesterday anyway?? ALSO THIS LADY. 
> 
> Idk guys, I enjoyed writing this dumbass fic but I have literally no stake in canon, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Btw this came as a kind of break to another, much more of a bummer Steter fic I'm writing, so if you like this you might want to watch for that one. If I ever finish it. 
> 
> Anyway, all Welsh translations are in the bottom notes, and also provided via a half finished Duolingo Welsh course and Google Translate, so if you see something wrong hmu
> 
> ALSO this takes place in a hand wavy, nebulous au where Derek is still Alpha, and Erica, Boyd, Allison, Scott, Lydia, Peter, and Stiles are all happy members of the pack. The Fluff AU, minus Cora, because I don't know how to write her yet but I love her. 
> 
> Also also, not beta read, all the garbage is mine.

Stiles is the shit, alright.

He’s _the shit_.

It’s just unfortunate that he’s the shit at lying and deflecting, so no one knows just how much The Shit he is.

Oh, you could say his dad knows he’s the shit, but he doesn’t see it as quite the accomplishment that Stiles does. His dad seems to think that lying and deflection are skills most likely to be used in flexibly legal activities.

To which Stiles replies: they’re also good skills for careers in politics and police work, _Sheriff Stilinski._

The point is that Stiles is the shit.

Which is why it’s so embarrassing that he gets caught over something so stupid.

____________________

“I still don’t get why we’re out here,” Stiles whined. It was perfectly acceptable to be whining. He was out stomping all over the woods, where nothing good had ever happened _ever_ , when he could have been at home, sleeping or eating or _sleeping_.

Derek looked at him with his eyebrows in full force. “Someone is ritually disemboweling raccoons and dumping them around-”

“Great! Let me know when you find them so I can give them a thank you card.”

“Stiles hates raccoons,” interjected Scott helpfully.

“...you hate raccoons?” Derek’s voice held enough judgement to fill the entire Supreme Court.

“Raccoons are assholes,” Stiles defended himself vehemently. “Assholes with tiny creepy little hands. Sure, their faces are cute, but that’s only to lull you into a false sense of security before they rip off the heads of all your chickens for shits and giggles!”

This was greeted by silence from the entire pack.

“Be that as it may,” drawled Peter, “the raccoons aren’t really the problem- the ritual sacrifice is the problem. There are dozens of rituals in which a mammal sacrifice could be used, but we need to find the site to know whether they’re trying to ensure a good harvest or summon Baphomet.”

Stiles knew this, but-

“I’m still gonna whine.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, darling,” said Peter dryly.

They continued trudging through the woods, Scott dropping hints to Stiles about bringing up the whole raccoon thing with his therapist, when they saw it.

It was tall. Well, they both were. But the one on the left was like ten feet tall. And Stiles wasn’t going to be the one who said it, but it looked like-

“That’s a dick.” Allison tipped her head. “Like, it’s really easy to find rock formations that look vaguely like a dick, but that has balls and a foreskin turtleneck and everything."

No one could argue. It really really looked like a dick, so it made sense that on the right was a cave with a decidedly yonic presence.

Erica was already bounding forward into the cave through the bushes in front of it, patting the labia outcropping as she passed. “Look! There’s a cave cervix and everything!”

But as distracting as vag-cave and dick-mountain were, what really should have attracted their attention first was the bloody altar in between the two.

Peter stepped up to it, inspecting the inscriptions and runes carved into the stone slab that made the table.

“I’m gonna hazard a guess at ‘what is a fertility ritual’ Alex,” said Stiles, stepping up next to Peter.

“Astute,” replied Peter, dripping with sarcasm. “Would you like to try your hand at double Jeopardy and tell me who performed the fertility ritual?”

“Ah ah ah, Peter, contestants are responsible for providing the questions, not the answers.” Stiles stepped away from the stone slab, going over to inspect Snatch Thatch, as Erica was currently dubbing it.

He couldn’t see any inscriptions carved inside the cave. Peter stepped in alongside him, the others outside looking at Cock Rock (another Erica christening) and the altar.

“Rituals like this used to be fairly common for many species. My own grandparents performed a fertility sacrifice, although it was going out of style even then,” Peter mused out loud. “Clomid has a better success rate these days.”

Stiles hmm’d in acknowledgement. “That book you lent me last month had a section on dryads and fertility. Said that dryads take fertility rituals more seriously than other forest sprites.”

“You mean the book that you stole?”

“You’ll get it back when I’m done. That’s borrowing, not stealing. Anyway, it said dryads are very ritualistic about fertility, but out of all the rites the book listed, mammal sacrifice wasn’t one.”

Peter hmm’d this time.

It really was amazing how anatomically accurate the cave was. Erica was right, Stiles thought as he leaned in to inspect it, the wall at the back looked just like an ectocervix with a small, narrow opening-

“HISSSSSSSSS!”

A tiny black hand reached out of the hole and scratched Stiles’ face. Before he could stop it, he felt his short fangs drop, baring them instinctively, and pointed claws grew from his fingers. As soon as he felt it happen, he reeled it back in and backed the hell up from the wall. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than half a second, but it was long enough.

Peter stared at Stiles, astonished for a moment, before looking _very_ intrigued, and nope. Nope nope nope, nothing good ever came from that look. Stiles immediately decided the only way out of this was to gaslight the fuck out of him.

“FUCKING _raccoons!”_ yelled Stiles, as if that was the only thing that had happened. Scott came running in, adorably worried for his best friend’s phobia. He saw the little black hand still waving around from the hole in the back wall, hissing with all the might of a twelve pound mass of fur and anger. Scott hurried Stiles out of the cave, and honestly, whatever Stiles had done in a past life to deserve Scott must have been amazing. He must have sacrificed himself for an orphanage or something, because Scott hovered over Stiles, checking on him the whole way back to the cars, so that Peter had to stay back or risk being caught up in the Nurse Scott cyclone.

When Scott took him directly to his mom for a rabies shot however, he revised, and thought that maybe it hadn’t been such an amazing sacrifice after all.

____________________

Although he’d been expecting it, he wasn’t any less displeased to find Peter waiting on his bed when he got home.

Not bothering with talking around it, Peter simply dropped “What are you?”

“Tired,” was Stiles’ grumpy answer. “And scratched. And recently rabies vaccinated, so if you could please-”

“Some kind of shifter, obviously,” contemplated Peter out loud. “What’s strange to me is that you don’t smell like anything other than human. Well, except for that little bit of magic that hangs around you, but that’s normal for a spark. And you don’t seem to have any sort of improved healing factor, although I suppose you could be suppressing it.”

Stiles gave up on the gaslighting idea and sighed, shoving Peter over so he could lay face down in his bed.

“Obviously no kind of extra strength, either,” said Peter.

“Eat me,” he replied, voice muffled by the covers. “Do you honestly think the months it took me to recover from Gerard would have been worth keeping a secret?”

Stiles felt the subvocal growl next to him and hid his tiny smile in the bed. He probably shouldn’t be so pleased to hear Peter’s rancor against Argent, considering how it had a history of leading to murder, but… fuck it, it was nice to feel protected.

The thing was, out of everyone in the group, Peter was closest to Stiles. Sure, his relationship with Derek was slowly repairing, and his relationship with Scott had gone from “Aspirations of Homicide” to “Ignore Unless Absolutely Necessary.” But he _voluntarily_ spent time with Stiles, at his own apartment even, researching and snarking and planning and backup planning together.

And even more telling, Stiles was beginning to think he was closest to Peter too.

Sure, Scott was still his best friend, but lately it was more in the way of a given title than an active position. He knew Scott would be there for him no matter what, but Scott also spent a lot of time with Allison, and Isaac, and the rest of the pack for that matter. But it was cool. Stiles understood. He wasn’t possessive and jealous at all.

Okay, really, he did understand. And he was spending a lot of time with Peter too, so even if he wanted to complain about it, which he didn’t, he couldn’t do it without being a total hypocrite.

So when Peter brought a hand up to his cheek to drain the small amount of pain and inspect the bandage on his cheekbone, it wasn’t as weird or terrifying as it would have been a year ago. It wasn’t weird or terrifying at all really.

Stiles sighed and leaned into the touch, relaxing more fully into his bed and tucking his head next to Peter’s seated hip, closing his eyes.

“You know,” Peter murmured, “if you tell me what you are, I could probably help you find books specific to your species.” He smoothed his hands along Stiles’ hair. “There’s always more history to learn.”

And oh, that was tempting. Stiles didn’t actually know anything about his species. His mom had died before she could pass down much information. He pretty much only knew that they were so far past endangered they might be considered extinct, and that apparently he took after his Welsh grandpa who had died years before he was born. Grandma Myfanwy on the other hand had lived until Stiles was 9, but refused to say anything on the matter except _“Byddwch yn fachgen da ac nid ydynt yn bwyta cnofilod.”_

But… the reason Stiles was so good at deception was because from the moment the lie left his lips, he accepted that it had an expiration date. Half truths and hidden places always get discovered eventually, and the acceptance made the lie comfortable. It made him able to relax just enough to make the lie believable.

So he knew that Peter would figure it out.

But he’d be damned if Stiles was going to make it easy for him.

Instead, he smiled, eyes closed, and said “I started filling my dad’s clips with alternating regular and wolfsbane bullets. You should probably make sure you’re gone by the time he gets home.” And then he snuggled closer and fell asleep.

____________________

The next morning, Stiles woke to a throbbing cheek and a text from Derek.

 

**_From >:(_ **

_6:47_

_Found another disemboweled raccoon._

**_To >:(_ **

_7:02_

_If it’s the one that scratched me, feel free to spit on it’s furry little corpse._

**_From >:(_ **

_7:03_

_I need you to come do a tracking spell, I want to find out where it’s den is. I might be able to catch the scent of whoever’s doing the ritual._

**_To >:(_ **

_7:05_

_Come on Derek, where’s the romance. Aren’t you supposed to woo me into favors?_

**_From >:(_ **

_7:06_

_Do it and I won’t tell Peter what happened to his wine glasses._

 

Aw, shit, how did Derek even know about that? Stiles sighed. He would have done it anyway, but this was definitely adding to an already full day.

 

**_To >:(_ **

_7:08_

_Fine, but I expect you to take that secret to the grave in return for this. Text me where you found the raccoon and I’ll meet you there at 6:30._

 

Stiles heaved himself out of bed and into the shower after that, making a list in his head of things he’d need for the tracking spell.

____________________

Stiles and the others were sitting at a table outside for lunch. Erica was telling Lydia in detail about why Erica had named it “Snatch Thatch” while Boyd listened, and Scott, Allison and Isaac were involved in some kind of three way flirt-off.

Stiles was on his phone looking up where he could pick up a new blue beeswax candle, when lips tickled the back of his neck with a whisper of “The closest seller of beeswax candles is in Greenville.”

Stiles flailed, and would have fallen off the bench if not for Peter’s hand on his back.

“Oh my god, seriously?? You’re creeping on the high school campus now?” exclaimed Stiles.

“I think you’ll find that this particular table is just over the property line of the school district,” said Peter smoothly.

“Ugh.” Stiles didn’t doubt it. Peter would know something exactly like that. Hell, he’d probably been the one to drag it there for... nefarious purposes. Or something.

Stiles sent Peter a vicious glare anyway, knowing exactly what he’d been trying to do. Stiles wasn’t a brand new shifter though. He wasn’t going to slip just because someone snuck up on him. Yesterday had been… an exceptionally startling startle, a One Time Only occurrence.

Peter looked at him thoroughly, though subtly, as if trying to catalog any minute changes that might have happened due to his sneak attack. Stiles crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, waiting for him to finish.

“Are you done?”

“With you? Never, sweetheart,” he leered dramatically. Stiles rolled his eyes and Peter gave a small but genuine laugh. “Derek mentioned you doing a tracking spell this evening, and I remembered that you burnt down the last of your blue beeswax candles during that incident with the gryffon. Since I am such a generous and giving person, I decided to pick some up for you.” He handed over a bag. When Stiles looked, there were four good sized pillar candles inside.

Relief washed over him. He’d been worried about finding the right candles and getting his hands on them after lacrosse practice, but still having time to make dinner and bring it to his dad and then get to the preserve.

“Thanks Peter,” he said genuinely. Peter looked pleased, and then calculating.

“If you _really_ wanted to express your gratitude-”

“Yeah, I’m not that thankful,” said Stiles flatly. No way was he trading his secret for a bagful of candles.

Peter tsked. “I suppose you can keep the candles anyway.” He addressed the table at large for the first time then, despite everyone having been listening to the whole conversation. “All you kiddies study hard and behave well, then.”

There was a moment of silence as Peter walked away and then Scott burst out “Has he been asking you for _sexual favors??”_

Before Stiles could process that, Erica leaned forward and eagerly followed up with “And have you been granting them??”

Stiles groaned as he realized what that conversation had sounded like from the outside.

“No. No, guys. I just know something he doesn’t, and he’s been trying to weasel it out of me. And before you ask, I’m not telling you either.” Stiles turned his head back to his phone, and considered whether rice or quinoa would go better with his dad’s dinner tonight.

____________________

The tracking spell was pretty simple. As the herbs burned, the quartz dangling over the map began to sway, circling wide and then smaller and smaller until it stopped over a spot about a mile and half from their current spot.

Stiles put out the candles and packed everything up as quickly as possible so he could follow Derek. As soon as he caught up, Derek said “You don’t need to come, you know.”

“Why would I miss a chance to spend time with your sunshiney self, Derek?” asked Stiles cheerfully.

The light was getting low, but there was just enough to see Derek’s eye roll. They walked in silence for a while before Derek broke it again.

“Whatever you’re doing with my uncle, you need to be careful.”

Stiles almost tripped. “Peter? I’m not doing anything with Peter.”

Derek gave him a flat look over his shoulder.

“I’m not Scott, Stiles. I can see what’s in front of my face.”

Stiles began to sputter defensively; whether about Scott or Peter he wasn’t sure.

“I’m just saying,” continued Derek, “You seem… good for him. But he’s the only family I have left, and I don’t want him to go through any more pain than he has to.”

“Oh my god,” said Stiles. “Oh my god. I don’t even know where to start with that. First of all, nothing is happening with me and Peter. Second, do you honestly think any shovel talk you can give is scarier than what Peter would actually do if someone fucked with him? Third, you have literally killed him, so if you want to talk about pain caused I think we have a bit of a hypocrite situation here. And fourth, there is nothing happening with me and Peter!!”

Derek rolled his eyes again. “Happening, going to happen, whatever. It’s obvious that you two are barrelling toward _something._ ” He took a deep breath. “And as much I think we both know I was justified in ripping out Peter’s throat, I also know I’m part of the reason he needed to be stopped in the first place. I _know_ how much I’ve hurt him; it’s why I’m trying to prevent more.” He looked pointedly at Stiles.

Stiles mouth hung open. That was practically Derek opening his heart to him. He must have been completely serious about what he was saying.

But… Derek was wrong. He and Peter weren’t anything but packmates, and like, _probably_ friends. That is, if you can ever claim to be friends with someone who tried to mind control your best friend and who you also helped set on fire once.

So Stiles opened his mouth to say that no, he absolutely was not barrelling towards _anything_ with Peter, but… the words sat on his tongue like the lies he was so familiar with.

Suddenly, Derek stiffened, nostrils flaring.

“What? What is it?” Stiles was tense, waiting for something to jump out at them.

Derek hurried forward without a word, Stiles left dashing to keep up. As they reached the den, Stiles realized what the problem was.

Four baby raccoon cubs were huddled together, crying out for their mother, who was a mile and half away and also super dead.

“Ah, shit.”

____________________

Which is how Stiles came to be carrying his backpack on his front, blanket tucked inside, with four squirming grey blobs on top of it, doing his best to keep from jarring them as he walked.

Part of him, a small part but a part nonetheless, just wanted to leave them there and let nature run its course. But really that would have felt too much like punishing the children for the sins of their fathers, even if Stiles was sure they were going to grow up to be adult asshole raccoons. They still deserved a chance or whatever. Maybe one of them would grow up to _not_ be a face scratching, chicken murdering butthead.

So Stiles had called Scott, and Scott had called Deaton, and Deaton had given them permission to go into the vet clinic and get the babies settled as long as he didn’t have to come in and deal with anything.

Scott let them in and the three of them quickly got to work warming the babies up and feeding them.

“Do you think this is part of the fertility ritual? Like, have all the dead raccoons recently given birth?” Scott looked distressed at the idea of so many litters being left to die.

Derek shrugged, nonplussed. For someone who’d been in such a hurry to get to the den, he seemed awfully blasé about the possibility of a couple dozen dead cubs out there.

“We got to these ones in time to help, but chances are if there were others, they got eaten before they had to starve to death,” Derek said, as if that should be some kind of comfort.

Scott looked stricken.

Eventually they had all the baby raccoons fed and settled into a warmer. Stiles offered Scott a ride home, but Scott said he’d be staying at the clinic since the babies needed to eat every 4 hours.

Stiles split from Derek and headed home. His dad was on the night shift again, and as Stiles stood alone in his room, he felt unsettled in his skin.

It wasn’t unusual for him to feel the urge to shift after using magic. The two were closely intertwined. Stiles was pretty sure there was some kind of inner balance that had to be maintained between the two, because the bigger the magic, the more urgently he felt the need to change.

Right now the itch wasn’t too bad. He could probably ignore it; do some homework and go to sleep. Except…

He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about what Derek said about him and Peter, thinking about who could possibly be performing the fertility ritual, thinking about what if there really were more dens full of abandoned baby raccoons.

Shit, what if there were more raccoon cubs out there who hadn’t been eaten? What if they were slowly starving to death? It couldn’t hurt to go look. Just to be sure.

Stiles quickly shed his clothes and let the change shiver over him. He trotted past his mirror, glancing at his orange fur and white tipped tail. He snorted to himself.

Honestly, how hadn’t Peter guessed “fox” immediately? Stiles couldn’t imagine himself as being anything else.

Stiles slipped out the cat door his dad had installed for this very purpose, and set off for the forest.

____________________

He kept his nose to the ground, following his own scent back to the den and sniffing around it, getting a general feel for “baby raccoon scent.” Then he started a circuit about a mile out from the altar letting his mind drift as his nose did the work.

Stiles was a shifter, but he was so unlike werewolves that it was hard to believe they were related species. He had no accelerated healing, no enhanced senses when he was human-shaped, and he’d had a full shift since he was a toddler. Unlike werewolves who couldn’t work magic, Stiles had been in touch with what Deaton called his “spark” for years; he just hadn’t had a real reason to use it until werewolves started popping up left and right.

He wondered if Peter would immediately have more to tell him about himself once he figured it out, or if he’d have to research it more. Stiles could help. He’d already picked through so many websites, he could point him to the ones with the most likely true information. They could make a weekend out of it, with dinner-

Holy shit, this was what Derek was talking about, wasn’t it? Stiles and Peter spent so much time together that it must have looked like a dedicated relationship from the outside.

Stiles was the one who always patched up Peter after a fight, because Peter wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. It was only fair that Peter returned the favor when Stiles was the one hurt (rabies incidents aside.) They spent quiet research nights together, bickered over what ancient texts were really saying, cooked for each other, always sat next to each other during pack meetings- FUCK.

It looked like a dedicated relationship for the inside too.

Oh my god, he was in a relationship with Peter Hale and he hadn’t even realized it.

Stiles frantically thought back over their past several encounters. Did Peter know?? Stiles thought about the endearments, the gentle touches between them, and the overdramatic leers that suddenly seemed more honest than Stiles had ever considered.

Holy _shit_ , Peter totally knew. He totally knew and he totally wanted to bone Stiles.

Stiles fell back on his furry haunches, stunned.

What was he going to do with this information? Well, he supposed the ultimate goal was to use it to get into a long term relationship and also Peter’s pants, but there were probably steps to take, right? Like they should probably go on an official date? Where would they-

“Oh, what a beautiful fox! You’ll make a perfect offering.”

God fucking damn it.

____________________

Stiles had made a chump mistake. He could admit it. He’d gone out into the woods, at night, by himself, without telling anyone, in a form that no one except his dad would recognize, when he knew there was something out there sacrificing little furry mammals. Sure, it had been all raccoons until now, but Stiles knew that one mammal is usually as good as another when it comes to ritual sacrifice.

Now he was being carried toward the altar in between Cock Rock and Snatch Thatch, and he had only himself to blame. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get himself out of it.

He twisted and writhed until he could get a good look at the person carrying him. It looked like a woman, an ethereally beautiful woman, built from a strange mixture of flesh and oak branches, with a heavy dose of flowers mixed in for good measure.

Some sort of dryad, then. God, he’d been right the first time. He should have looked into them harder.

He continued squirming, doing his best to wiggle out of the arms holding him, but his bites and scratches had no effect on the wooden arms that held him. He considered shifting back, but a human mammal is still a mammal. There was no guarantee that the change would halt the sacrifice, and Stiles would prefer to have the advantage of being underestimated as a fox.

“Hush little one, _byddwch yn dauel,_ ” she crooned, petting him gently.

 _Byddwch yn dauel-_ Stiles’ mind echoed and automatically followed it up with _-neu ewch allan._ _Be quiet or go out_ , spoken by his grandmother every time he got too rowdy in the house.

Why the fuck was an American dryad speaking Welsh?

They reached the altar, and the dryad began chanting as she placed Stiles down on it, his paws immediately sticking to the surface. He couldn’t move his feet. Shitshitshit.

Stiles swayed, an unnatural calm coming over him. She was fucking anesthetizing her sacrifice, which, okay, that’s probably the humane way to ritually disembowel things, but his brain slowing down was the last thing Stiles needed right now.

No more Welsh was forthcoming, it was Latin or Greek or whatever now, and oh, that was a very big knife coming down-

In a last ditch effort, Stiles lunged his head forward and chomped off a huge clump of flowers. Finally, the dryad jerked back and dropped the knife, clutching the wound of bitten flowers.

Feet suddenly unstuck with the halt in chanting, Stiles jumped down from the altar and booked it the fuck out of there, possibly faster than he’d ever run in his life.

He ran and ran, and it wasn’t until he was most of the way there that he realized he wasn’t running to his house. He didn’t stop though, and continued running all the way to Peter’s apartment. When he got to the door, Stiles immediately made as much of a racket as a fox can, which is probably more than most expect.

Screeching, Stiles hoped against hope that Peter would get to his door before any of his neighbors, and luckily he delivered. As soon at the door was open wide enough, he darted inside past Peter’s legs. He got to the living room and paced, waiting for the adrenaline to abate so he could change back.

Peter simply closed and locked the door, and turned around to see his visitor.

Stiles continued to pace until Peter sucked in a sharp breath. “Stiles, stop, you’re bleeding.”

That brought Stiles up short. He was bleeding? He paused and looked down at as much of his body as he could see. He didn’t see anything, but when he looked behind him he saw a trail of blood drips tracking his path around the living room.

Peter was suddenly at his side, gently examining him. Stiles gave out a short, high screech when Peter found the cut in his belly, and sent him a dirty look. Peter pursed his lips.

“It’s not deep, but it will be a lot easier to treat if you can shift back,” he said.

 _Chill the hell out, Stiles,_ he told himself. _You’re with Peter. You’re safe._ Stiles took a deep breath. The scents of Peter, and books, and den came back to him, and he was able to allow the change to shiver over him.

Which left him very naked, and almost in Peter’s lap.

To his credit, Peter just turned him so that he could get a better look at the slice in Stiles’ lower abdomen.

“The cut’s long, but it just barely made it to the muscle. You’re very lucky. I assume you met our local disemboweler?” Peter asked as he went to get his first aid kit and some spare flannel pants.

Stiles nodded, belatedly realizing Peter couldn’t see it.

“Yeah,” he said. “She likes her mammals small and cute and probably capable of producing litters.”

“Why didn’t you shift back?” Peter asked as he came back into the room.

“I wanted the element of surprise. I said she _probably_ likes her sacrifices capable of carrying litters; she might have been just as happy to sacrifice any mammal.”

“You’re an idiot,” Peter scolded, gentle hands belying his tone as he helped Stiles lay flat on the carpet.

Stiles couldn’t even argue with him. It had been a really dumb move to go out tonight.

“She must be some kind of dryad, though. She was made out of oak branches and flowers, and some regular human parts.” Stiles frowned as Peter slathered the cut in antibacterial ointment. “How did you know I was the fox?”

Peter shrugged casually. “I saw you and I knew. Once you were here, it seemed obvious; like you couldn’t be anything else.”

“Right?? What else would I be other than a fox shifter?” said Stiles.

“Actually, I don’t think you’re a shifter at all.”

Stiles looked at him dubiously. “You- I mean, you were here just now when I went from being a fox to being a human, right? You saw that?”

Peter gave Stiles an exasperated look as he gently closed the wound with butterfly closures. “Yes, Stiles, I saw. And what I saw is not what I would consider any traditional species of shifter.” He silently taped gauze to Stiles’ skin as Stiles considered that.

“Well, what the fuck am I then??” finally asked Stiles, indignant.

“Something rare,” answered Peter. “I’ll tell you once you’re off the floor and resting.”

Peter helped Stiles to his feet, and then helped him into the pajama pants. Taking his weight with an arm around his waist, Peter directed him into the bedroom instead of the couch as Stiles had anticipated. Stiles thought about arguing (they hadn’t been on a first date yet, he didn’t want to seem easy, did he? Except that he probably totally was. When it came to Peter, anyway.) However, the thought of a mattress was too divine to pass up.

Stiles lay down and Peter helped him under the duvet and then sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“I had considered this immediately after the raccoon attack, but dismissed it as I thought you were all but extinct,” began Peter, “but with evidence right before me… what I believe you are, Stiles, is much more closely related to a witch than any kind of shifter.”

Stiles looked at Peter, and surprised didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Your shift is closely tied to the use of your spark, am I right?” Peter asked. Stiles nodded dumbly.

“There was a type of witch, centuries ago, that basically acted as its own familiar. They would turn into the animal most closely aligned with their spirit, which tended to run in families. The act of changing form gave them a conduit to precisely direct and settle their magic, which could easily grow unstable otherwise. You smell like a human because you are one; just a different type than most.”

Stiles gaped. “Do you have books on this?” he asked eagerly.

“I do, but you’re not allowed to look at them until the morning. People who wander into the woods alone as a furry creature when a known murderer of furry creatures is out and about, do not get book privileges.”

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might actually get stuck that way. Whatever. He was comfy in Peter’s bed anyway. He deliberately snuggled deeper into the bed and gave a wide eyed innocent look.

Peter chuckled, and made to get up off the bed. Stiles darted out a hand and grabbed him by the wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“... I assumed I was going to sleep on the couch, but apparently I’m mistaken,” he said with an upward tilt to the words.

Stiles nodded to the other side of the bed. Peter looked at him for a moment, and then went to his dresser to pull out pajamas.

Stiles made an obvious shift to face Peter’s direction, and brightly watched Peter change his clothes. Stiles was waiting for a smart comment, but he only got a raised eyebrow and a smirk, so he just enjoyed the display of tanned skin and muscles instead.

When Peter rounded the bed and climbed in, he immediately plastered himself to Stiles’ back as the big spoon, gently touching the bandage to ensure that it was still secure.

“I’ve been wondering when you would clue in,” he whispered to Stiles. Stiles elbowed him lightly, and then relaxed into the hold, finding one last smile for the evening when Peter’s lips pressed behind his ear.

____________________

The next morning was Saturday, so at least Stiles didn’t have to worry about getting up and back to his house to get ready for school.  
  
No, his biggest worry first thing this morning was the raging case of morning wood happening in both his and Peter’s pants.

He was virgin-panicking. This was a virgin panic. Panic! At the Virgin Disco.

What was he supposed to do?? He was pretty sure they were both on the same page as far as attraction went. But they hadn’t talked about anything yet. Were they supposed to talk about it first? Should he maybe just grind back against Peter and see what happens? Or get up and go take care of himself in the bathroom without waking him up? But then Peter would be able to smell it, because werewolf. Would Peter be offended? What-

“Jesus Christ Stiles, if you’re going to think this loudly every morning I’m going to have to wear earplugs to bed,” came a sleepy mumble from behind him.

Stiles snorted, his tension suddenly broken.

“Sorry,” he said, voice gravely from sleep. “Just let me fall back on all my other experiences of waking up with someone’s dick poking me in the ass.”

Peter growled at that and rolled Stiles onto his back so he could nose under his jaw.

“And who do all these other dicks belong to?” he asked, teasing.

“Oh, just my harem of boyfriends: Nobody, No One, and Not a Soul,” answered Stiles, a little breathlessly as Peter’s lips traveled down his neck to his collarbone.

Peter hummed and let his nose drift across Stiles’ clavicle, reveling in the warmth of him first thing in the morning.

Despite the newness of the situation, Stiles felt comfortable. He leaned into every touch, his mind drifting. Peter moved the collar of his shirt to the side to kiss his shoulder. Stiles shivered, and Peter smiled. He began slowly working his way back up to Stiles neck, wondering how he would feel about love bites, when Stiles suddenly yelled-

  
_“Blodeuwedd!!”_ he exclaimed, trying to sit up before taking a sharp inhale as last night’s cut made itself known.

Peter looked down, startled and concerned. “Excuse me?” he asked, helping Stiles sit up more slowly this time. Stiles propped himself up on the headboard and began talking excitedly.

“She’s not a dryad!! She’s from a Welsh myth, her name is Blodeuwedd. A couple of magicians made her out of an oak tree and like, meadowsweet flowers, so she could marry this other guy. Which, I mean, dick move. You can’t just create a being with consciousness and free will and then immediately take it away. But then she cheated on her husband I think? And she and her new dude tried to kill her husband, but he didn’t die, and then he came back and killed New Boyfriend by throwing a spear through a rock and stabbing him.” Stiles frowned. “And I think Blodeuwedd got turned into an owl.”

“If she got turned into an owl, how is she wandering around the Beacon Hill preserve killing raccoons?” Peter asked skeptically.

Stiles shrugged. “Those old myths are never 100% accurate. Maybe the owl thing didn’t stick. The point is, she was made out of the right materials and spoke Welsh.”

Peter sighed. “I suppose it’s the best lead we have. Any idea of how we can contact her?”

“A fertility offering maybe? Clearly that’s her thing right now. We might only need to go into the woods and call out in her native language. Honestly, not a whole lot of people speak Welsh in California, much less Beacon Hills. People like speaking their mother tongue, even mythical tree-slash-owl ladies I bet.”

“Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot, even though I was hoping to spend our morning in another way,” Peter said as his eyes drifted down Stiles’ body. Stiles blushed.

“Well… she always sacrifices at night… it’s not like we need to get up immediately,” he said, eyes looking up through his lashes.

Peter gave a delighted hum, and leaned forward to press their lips together.

____________________

“You’re sure this is going to work?” asked Scott that afternoon.

“Nope, not at all,” answered Stiles distractedly. They had just reached the altar and placed a box of ovulation tests on top of it. Stiles grimaced at the memory of being stuck to the stone slab last night, and hurried away from it, going next to Peter.

Scott kept looking at the two of them suspiciously, like something was different but he couldn’t quite tell what.

“Okay, just remember: let me do the talking first, and don’t attack unless it looks like she’s going to slice and dice someone,” Stiles reminded them, staring extra hard at Derek. Derek rolled his eyes.

Then he took a deep breath and called out _“Blodeuwedd! Wraig o Lleu Llaw Gyffes! Mae gennym anrheg i chi!”_ He waited a moment, and then started again. _“Blodeuwedd! Wraig o-”_

“If you are not looking for injury, I would avoid calling me by that title again,” said a voice from atop Cock Rock. They all looked up and saw her, beautiful as she was strange, made up of that mix between tree, flower, and flesh. She gracefully descended, reaching the forest floor in moments. She stood, observing them all, but zeroed in on Stiles. Her eyes brightened.

“Oh! Little fox witch! Was that you who ran off last night?” She came closer, only for Peter to move in front of Stiles protectively and growl. She ignored him and continued talking to Stiles. “If I’d known what you are, I wouldn’t have offered you on the altar. Well, probably. You are a protected species after all.”

Stiles poked his head around Peter and impatiently pushed him aside. “Protected species? There’s a list? Who makes that list? Wait, you know what, it doesn’t matter.” He took a calming breath. “If you wouldn’t like to be called by that title, is there another you’d prefer?” he asked politely, grunting as he tried to manhandle Peter back.

“Hm, Blodeuwedd is fine. Or if you must, Blodeuwedd, partner to Gronw Pebr,” she answered, slowly gliding around the altar, lazily looking at everyone present.

“Blodeuwedd it is then. We have a gift for you.”

“So I heard.” She picked up the box and looked at it curiously.

“We, uh, noticed that you’ve been doing a lot of fertility rituals lately,” said Stiles lamely. Blodeuwedd continued to turn the box over and inspect it as she answered.

“Yes, Gronw and I would like children. Several, hopefully. At once. I don’t like the idea of dragging it out. Raccoons and other litter animals have the right idea,” she said absently, opening the box and pulling out a little pamphlet.

Stiles considered letting his curiosity lie, just this once. But-

“And Gronw is all fine? No puncture wounds? Totally ready for fatherhood?”

Blodeuwedd looked up from where she’s been intently reading the instructions, clearly amused.

“Someone’s been reading their fairy tales.”

Stiles flushed, just a little, and said “My nain used to tell me your story, along with a few others.”

“You probably heard that nonsense about me turning into an owl, and Lleu throwing a spear so hard it pierced a rock and then killed Gronw.” She sighed. “I could always turn into an owl, from the beginning. It’s part of how I was made. Flying is a convenient escape route in any given situation, so I suppose it’s easy to see how people came to the conclusion that I couldn’t turn back. The whole story about Lleu though?” She scoffed. “He didn’t even care enough to challenge Gronw over me. He simply saw the back of us and proceeded to tell increasingly unlikely stories about how he’d been wronged and then taken his revenge.” Blodeuwedd rolled her eyes.

The only response Stiles had for that was “Huh. What a douche.”

“These urine sticks intrigue me,” she announced suddenly. “I came to Beacon Hills for the fertility rites because I had hoped the nemeton would lend them extra power.” She closed the box back up and held it aloft. “These seem a more likely route, though. Thank you for your hospitality.” And with that, she disappeared.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then-

“Well, that was a weird week,” said Stiles, blowing a gust of breath out of his cheeks. “Come on Peter, let’s go buy condoms and go back to your apartment.”

“Condoms??” gasped Scott.

“Of course, my lovely little fox witch,” smirked Peter.

“Fox witch?” said Derek, eyebrows gathered in confusion.

“Hey, take mine and Lydia’s picture next to the Snatch Thatch!” Erica called as she tossed her phone across the altar to Boyd.

It had been a weird week, but not Beacon Hills weirdest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to congratulate "Panic! At the Virgin Disco" for being the dumbest joke I've ever made. The bar was already so low, but I managed to sink even lower ayyyyyyy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Byddwch yn fachgen da ac nid ydynt yn bwyta cnofilod- Be a good boy and don't eat rodents. 
> 
> Byddwch yn dauel neu ewch allan- Be quiet or go out
> 
> Blodeuwedd! Wraig o Lleu Llaw Gyffes! Mae gennym anrheg i chi!- Blodeuwedd! Wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes! We have a gift for you!


End file.
